When the Jazz is gone
by Wattestaebchen
Summary: Is set after Without Reservations. Face's thoughts four months after he has been shot. Another disturbing, sad oneshot from my side.


Spoiler: Without reservations, the grey team (but only in a way, the ending of the grey team can be interpreted in a completely different way.

Disclaimer: I tried to scam the rights but I'm still working. One day I'll be a con-man just as great as Face is.

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„Face, we're on, get moving!"

Four month. Four month since he was shot. One month since they had left Stockwell.  
One month since he had been dating various girls again.

"Come on, Faceman, get up!" his crazy friend whined in a funny way trying to get the Lieutenant out of bed.

Three and a half months since he first noticed the Jazz was gone.

"This one is gonna be easy!" Frankie said grinning, the Jazz in his eyes.

Face had to admit, Frankie was right but still he just didn't know what to think anymore. It just didn't feel the same going through the front-door.

"Hannibal, you know I never like your plans. Okay, so let's go!" it was the same way he had been acting when the Jazz was there. But then it was no acting, now it was.

"So, it's all clear?" Hannibal didn't notice nothing. And he once was the closest thing he had to a father. Ridiculous. And he couldn't even recognize if Face lied.

Yeah, well, you're just great! 

Face could barely remember when he had met Hannibal in Vietnam. It was a whole new experience for him. There had never been a person that didn't believe in what he was telling. Then suddenly a white-haired guy appeared in front of him. He was a darn smart guy and could always tell when someone was lying. That was what Murdock had told Face afterwards but Face also knew it took more than being smart not to be fooled by Face. And so the kid learned about Hannibal's strongest weapon.

He cared for him.

And now he didn't notice when he was lying. Did that mean Hannibal didn't care anymore? Or perhaps he had decided Face had to stop lying and finally come to him on his own. No it was clear. Hannibal didn't care anymore.

Suddenly a voice appeared. "It's not that you are afraid of this…" a hand carefully touched his stomach exactly where he had been shot.

A took some time until Face finally realized in what situation he was in but when he wanted to act Frankie interrupted him once again.

"You're just afraid of losing the ability to trust like you did in the last five years."

With that he disappeared. It seemed like he had never been there. But whether he had been there or not, what he had said made very much sense.

Face had thought that he was afraid of getting shot again. Getting wounded like that again. But that didn't make any sense anyway. He had been shot so many times before. But it was different before. Even when he was in Vietnam. When he was shot and couldn't move there was the team. He knew they would bring him home. Why didn't he this time?

No, he wasn't afraid of getting shot. He was afraid of not trusting. He was afraid of being the person he was before Vietnam. The person never trusting anyone and the person always lying.

And that was the way the Jazz was to be defined for him. The Jazz was what made him person he had been. The Jazz didn't give him courage. It made him trust people: And trusting people gave him courage. Now it was gone.

It was strange how Frankie knew better what Face should know. It was strange how Frankie had a better connection to the Jazz than Face had. But the strangest thing was how Face felt about it. He just knew that the Jazz was glowing brighter in Frankie and that he wasn't sure if his own was ever going to come back.

He made his choice.

"Colonel, I think I'm gonna sit this one out. Frankie can do the con-job perfectly fine. I'll wait here!"

It was Frankie's guilt-ridden face that hunted Face after he was gone. Nothing else. He, Templeton Peck, now Julian Root, had never been bonded to anyone and it didn't bother him to leave his family. He was used to be left alone. There was no difference in leaving…at least he told himself that.

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Hey…strange, I'm on a row. I'm sorry for the bad ending but perhaps I'm gonna write a sequel (or a prequel? Which one is the one that follows...?) Whatever I can write both, a sequel and a prequel, if you just tell me so…

Don't forget to review and tell me if my English has gotten any worse now that I am out of school…YIHHAAAA, worms.


End file.
